Phyllis Baxter's Wedding Dress
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Based on some tumblr prompts that I set myself: if Phyllis Baxter made her own wedding dress, and there was only one person who noticed that she had. AU speculation.


"You made it yourself didn't you?"

His voice was soft, but knowing, perfectly confident as he said it. It was for her ears only, standing there at the side of where every one else was dancing in the school hall, at their own wedding reception. His hand rested softly on her arm, brushing the light cream fabric softly, thoughtfully, before moving it further down to rest carefully on her waist where the dress nipped flatteringly in.

Her eyes widened a little in surprise.

"How can you tell?" she asked him curiously.

"I'm not sure," he replied truthfully, "I just knew. It just looks-… like something only you could make."

His hand moved almost unconsciously on her waist, moving her a fraction closer to him.

"Do you like it?" she asked him, her voice even quieter now. Her hands grasped the lapels of his suit gently, resting near his chest, levering him closer still towards her. Her face was candid, just a little hesitant, as she put her heart into every word she admitted, "That's why I made it myself; I wanted to make something that you would want to see me in."

He smiled at her, half-incredulously.

"Like it?" he asked her, his voice low and full of awe, "Phyllis, it's perfect."

She flushed just a little, looping her arms around his neck to hold him, and smiled the brightest smile he'd ever seen on her lips. Her body sighed happily into his and his hands tightened a little around her waist.

Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them now, anchored by him, looking him steadily in the face.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he replied.

 **/**

They weren't going on a honeymoon, all either of them had wanted was to go to their home.

Their bed had a cream bedspread, a very similar colour to her dress.

He lit the fire and then popped into the bathroom, making sure to was his hands with warm water. They would probably shake enough, the last thing he wanted was for them to shiver or for them to make her jump.

He found her standing by the side of their bed, waiting for him. She had taken off her had and let down her hair. The light from the fire was making her cream dress shine glow like pale gold and the dark of her hair glint like embers. She was the most beautiful woman- like their tiny cottage bedroom had been visited by a goddess or -…

He realised that he was standing in the room, just describing her in his head. She was watching his face with a kind of nervous amusement.

"Are you alright?" she asked him kindly.

He nodded.

"Yes," he told her, "Absolutely."

"That's good," she replied, smiling at him.

And then, she raises her arms gently, almost shyly, and reaches out for him.

"Come here," she asks him softly.

He doesn't need a second invitation, he moves closer to her, standing before as he did in the hall, putting his hands on her waist. She drapes her arms over his shoulders again, moves closer to him.

Their kiss is the tenderest thing he has felt in his life, he cannot believe that this woman is standing here - looking like this for him, doing this for him -…

He feels her tongue gently on his lower lip and groans in surprise and longing. And of course, she thinks she has startled him.

"Sorry," she tells him, pulling back quickly.

"No, don't be sorry," he tells her, "I was just-…"

Surprised? Carried away? Unbelievably-…

But she's smiling, she knows what he means.

"That's alright," she tells him quietly, "I know."

He marvels at it; how can this woman, _this_ woman, possibly feel the same for him as he does for her.

But he doesn't have time to ponder it, because she's taken ahold of his hand, lifting it from her waist, showing him where the buttons of her dress are. They run down the middle, hidden by an overlap of fabric.

His mind is running riot; surely it would have been easier for her to put them down the back? Had she thought about him doing this, and she thought about it and what would make it easier for him? Dear god, this woman-….

But he had to think, he had to concentrate, it wouldn't do to ruin the beautiful dress she had made just because his mind was wondering.

Her head tipped back a little, watching the meticulous work of his hands. She remembered that he'd been a valet and had done this often. She doubted his hands would have trembled then though, and the thought thrilled her a little. He worked slowly, carefully as he could. She watched his face now, watched the look of absolute devotion to his task.

She slipped her hand forwards to cup his cheek, raising his head to look at her, pulling his face firmly towards her, planting a searing kiss to his mouth. She heard him gasp, but she didn't need to ask if he was alright this time, his hands clutched her back.

She tugged him softly towards their bed.


End file.
